


For the Love of the Game

by Laineyvb131



Category: Madam Secretary
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-11
Updated: 2019-07-11
Packaged: 2020-06-26 14:51:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19770520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laineyvb131/pseuds/Laineyvb131
Summary: Henry’s idea for one of their first dates is something Elizabeth is pretty sure she’s going to hate.“It’s hard not to be romantic about baseball.” -Billy Beane, Moneyball





	For the Love of the Game

_“There’s no guilt in baseball, and it’s never boring, which makes it like sex.” - Annie Savoy, Bull Durham_

**May 2018, Washington, DC**

Elizabeth lunged out of her seat, nearly spilling the cup perched at her elbow. “Are you blind? Come on, ump! That was a strike!” she bellowed at the umpire behind home plate, vehement despite the futility of her tirade. The figures on the diamond resembled action figures from the VIP suites above the bleachers at Nationals Park, glass providing both a barrier from the humid night air and semblance of protection from public dangers. 

She flung out her hands, exasperated, nearly smacking that glass in her enthusiasm. “Blue isn’t giving Scherzer a chance, here. That clearly was below his numbers,” Elizabeth grumbled.

“Way too high and outside, babe.” Henry argued, from his vantage point next to her. He handed her the beer he’d caught when she began her protest. “You want to borrow my glasses?” His question barely concealed the amusement in his voice at his wife’s antics. 

The shadow of grin slipped across Matt’s face at Elizabeth’s exaggerated eye roll. She rounded on her agent. “I saw that, Matt.” His face was all stoic intensity, no hint of a reaction. Elizabeth waited another minute, eyes narrowed, but his expression never changed. 

Switching targets temporarily, Elizabeth focused her attention on Henry. “Why did I even think you’d agree with me? Clearly, you’re biased,” she challenged. “And just salty because the Pirates are losing.” 

“Just stating the obvious,” Henry replied, tipping the brim of his black and gold cap back to better see her face as she paced at the window. 

“Yelling at the umps isn’t nearly as much fun when I know they can’t hear me.” She glared at Matt again, her voice equal parts pleading and accusatory.

  
Matt stared at her blankly. “No way, Madam Secretary.”

“You’ve gotta admit, these are nice perks of the job, when you have time to name drop,” Henry acknowledged, tossing a sympathetic glance Matt’s direction. Elizabeth had been like a dog with a bone on this topic since they’d made tentative plans to attend the game, harassing both Frank and Matt to find an alternative to watching from the suite. “The Lincoln Suites aren’t quite the Lincoln Bedroom, but we have a great view.” He winked at his wife.

Elizabeth snickered in response to his comment. “I can’t believe we’re here on a Tuesday night and the world isn’t coming to an end,” she marveled. “I’d better shut up before I jinx myself.” Elizabeth peeked almost fearfully at her currently silent phone on the table across the room, as if the physical distance might allow her some semblance of a temporary buffer from her professional life. 

She suddenly seemed to notice the beer in her hand, and swirled the gold liquid once before drinking. Henry didn’t miss her pensive demeanor. “I’ll second that,” he agreed. “I like date night. Let’s enjoy the normalcy for as long as we can.” He reached toward his wife, and when Elizabeth grasped his fingers, squeezed hers gently. Her gaze met his, grateful and loving, and held on a moment longer. 

Elizabeth set her beer down as she turned back toward the action on the field. “Finally, a third out. That took forever. Let’s go, boys.” She adjusted the ponytail under her Nationals hat as if preparing for an appearance at the plate herself. 

“We’ve still got time. It’s only the bottom of the 6th,” Henry retorted, halfheartedly, glancing at the scoreboard, where the Pirates battled a six-run deficit.

“In your dreams, babe. The Nats have this game in the bag.” Elizabeth taunted, their banter lightening her mood. “I’d still rather be down there, though,” she tossed out, not quite ready to concede her argument. 

“It’s either in here, or on TV, ma’am,” Matt stated firmly, crossing his arms at his chest in emphasis. 

“I know, I know.” She brushed off her resignation with a wave of her hand. “Protocol. Sometimes I hate that word,” Elizabeth muttered. 

“Look at it this way, babe. Otherwise, you might have to,” Henry paused to delicately choose his next words, “tone down your rhetoric.” He hid his grin behind his own drink. “Daisy would freak out over the potential headlines.”

Elizabeth planted her hands on her hips. “I’m not saying anything they aren’t,” she protested, indicating the raucous crowd in the stands. “And I haven’t cursed once.”

“I admire your restraint.” Henry toasted her with his beer. “You’re also winning,” he noted sardonically.

“Touche.” Elizabeth pursed her lips at his sarcasm. “At least we got to see Harper play once this season. I’m telling you, he won’t be here next year. He’s gonna kill it in free agency. Someone will snag him for a couple hundred mil.” She trailed off. “What?” Elizabeth eyed Henry suspiciously, as he grinned at her, not bothering to hide his amusement anymore. 

“I’m just thinking of a cute blonde in cut-off shorts and a tank top who was once adamantly opposed to baseball.” His eyes warmed with the memory.

“Well, in my defense, the game looked really boring,” Elizabeth confessed, mirroring his grin. “I obviously needed a hot former ballplayer to teach me the rules.” She leaned over to kiss Henry, still smiling against his lips. “I couldn’t pull off that look anymore, though,” Elizabeth concluded, when she pulled away from her husband. 

Henry shook his head in disagreement. “You definitely could,” he proclaimed, deliberately scrutinizing her legs. “Although maybe not as Secretary of State.”

“Not the most appropriate attire now, even for baseball.” Elizabeth glanced down at her jeans and Converse, topped with the linen blazer she still wore in the air-conditioned room. “I think this outfit was media approved,” she snarked. “I didn’t have that problem when we were dating, although that’s probably a good thing, considering my wardrobe consisted of ripped jeans, ratty UVA sweatshirts and riding boots.”

“And those shorts,” Henry reminded her. “I loved your ass in those shorts.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, exaggerating the movement when his wife burst out laughing. 

“Henry!” Elizabeth admonished, her eyes sparkling. 

“Well, I did.” Henry shrugged unapologetically. “Aren’t you glad you finally agreed to go on a date with me?”

Elizabeth nodded, still giggling. “You weren’t the issue, babe. I was totally into you,” she clarified. “The choice of activities on the date was the problem. You should’ve led with the math factor.”

“Had I known you’d turn into a female Billy Beane, I might have. Moneyball has nothing on Elizabeth McCord,” Henry declared. Elizabeth loved sitting on the first base line, often with a scorecard on her lap, gleefully calculating stats between innings. He’d even bought her a glove one year for their anniversary, as a bit of a joke on his part, but which she religiously took to games during their years teaching at UVA. “I’d have been a lot less nervous waiting for your answer.”

“I didn’t make you wait _that_ long,” Elizabeth insisted, flopping back down in her chair, and reaching for her plate of food. 

“At the time, it seemed like forever.” Henry drained his beer and stared into the empty cup, reminiscing. “Besides, your poker face wasn’t nearly as good back then,” he sighed, the fear of rejection still sharp in his mind, despite the outcome. “I knew exactly how you felt as soon as I posed the question.” 

He’d wanted badly to impress Elizabeth Adams, sharing with her an experience he loved. For several nerve-wracking hours, Henry lived with the almost certain knowledge he’d blown the opportunity, until her acceptance proved opening his heart was a risk worth taking. 

“You could’ve definitely enticed me with the concession menu had Nationals Park existed all those years ago,” Elizabeth admitted, changing tactics. She’d never really divulged to Henry how close she’d been to turning him down, although he obviously discerned more than she’d told him. Thankfully, she’d made the right decision. More than right. Taking a change on him- on them- despite her initial misconceptions had been life changing. “Seriously, Henry, you have to try these crab cakes.” She shoved a bite in her mouth and scooped up another on her fork for him.

“No way, babe.” Henry waved away her offering. “Hot dogs and peanuts will always be the only acceptable ballpark food.”

“Whatever. You’re such a traditionalist. Just keep thinking that,” Elizabeth snorted dismissively. “They’re gonna have to roll me outta here. You’ve seen this spread, right?” she asked, rhetorically, as Henry held his own full plate on his lap. 

“Oh, yeah. I’ve got these fantastic specialty hot dogs.” He took a bite, and chewed before continuing. “Still hot dogs, though. I did try those tater tot nachos. They’re pretty good.” 

Elizabeth stood up to investigate more closely after Henry’s revelation. “I missed those. We also have ribs. When did those get here?” She finished the rest of her crab cake, and nearly dove for the barbecue. The crack of the bat followed by a roar from the crowd interrupted her quest, and Elizabeth whipped her attention back to the field. “Woohoo! Turner is on fiiyyah. Right in the gap. That’s three ribbies, baby!” 

Henry chuckled as Elizabeth danced around cheering, food momentarily forgotten in her excitement. More intrigued by her than the game, Henry kept his gaze on his wife as he let his mind drift to a hot, late August day over 30 years ago.

_*to be continued*_

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s note: “We write what we know” is more than just a cliche. The irony of this particular piece: I’m a baseball mom who hates baseball. So this is not a baseball story, but a love story, born from my sheer need for distraction in the fifth inning of the second game on a Sunday afternoon. Elizabeth, however, falls in love with the game. Maybe someday I will, too. Another irony: Téa has a small role in one of the best (in my opinion) baseball movies ever.


End file.
